Page 30 of A Lady’s Guide to Scoundrels and Gentlemen (The Harp & Thistle #1)

V ivian paced back and forth, staring at the floor as she did this. It was a wonder a hole had not been worn in the rug as it seemed pacing had become her default since she’d posted the desperate, frantic letter to Anne. She’d received a short telegram a few days ago from Anne that said she was leaving for Brighton soon, but no other information was provided. And that was driving Vivian mad, coiling her nerves into tight springs. She hoped with all hope Anne would arrive with something to share about Dantes. Preferably a story of ripping him to shreds in front of his brothers. She paused for a moment, smiled at the thought, and continued with her anxious pacing.

“Vivian, please, you’re going to wear a hole in the floor.” Father entered the parlor with his morning newspaper, having had the same thought about the floor as Vivian. “I can’t stand to watch you do this to yourself.”

She stopped, but her movement traveled from her feet to her hands, where they began to wring together. “I can’t handle this anymore, but I don’t know what to do.” She was getting worked up again, so Father pulled her in for a hug, gently patting her back. All this time, Vivian had kept Gran’s will stipulation secret from her family, not wanting it to taint their view of whomever she chose to marry. But yesterday, she could no longer hide it and had tearfully told Father everything, from Gran’s letter to her unexpected relationship with Dantes and finally to the solicitor’s error. The duke had seemed stunned by the tale, but whatever thoughts he’d had, he’d kept to himself.

“Why does this hurt so much?” she asked with defeat.

“Because he broke your heart, the blasted fool.”

Vivian sniffed.

“Do you want to go back home for a few days and go talk to him in person? You could stay in a hotel if needed. I know seeing him again would be hard, but at least you wouldn’t have to wonder any longer about why he did this.”

If she went back to London now, she would likely miss her deadline. Could she risk her future for a man who clearly didn’t love her? Mere weeks ago, they’d been discussing marriage. How could Dantes be so angry about the paintings, about her slip of the cursed phrase, that her pleas and apologies could be so easily ignored? That he could knowingly make her miss her deadline and alter her life so severely? His anger and frustration could perhaps be understandable, but this severe level was not. And it didn’t match with the man she thought she knew, the kind and gentle man whom she had fallen for.

Maybe she didn’t know him at all.

“I wrote a rather desperate letter to Anne and she’s on her way here,” Vivian said.

“I think Anne would be understanding in this situation, sweetheart.”

“If I go back, I’ll likely miss the deadline and lose the estate. If Bernard takes it over, he’s going to ruin generations of the hard work of our family.”

Father gave her a small smile. “That’s a noble concern of yours, but to be quite blunt, Vivian, they are dead. They don’t know, nor do they care, about what happens to the money. What you need to figure out for yourself is what is most important to you.”

This provided Vivian with a small bit of relief, but it hardly answered the question. Which was more important? Keeping her life-changing gift from her grandmother, one where she always had her own home and need not worry about money? Or losing that to go confront Dantes, possibly get answers, possibly still end up married some day when they figured out what had happened? Of course, in that scenario, they would not have the inheritance and the extra protection it provided her.

Even though it would be quite the conversation, she was sure she could at least convince Mr. Tewksbury to consider marriage. He had, after all, clearly stated he still hoped to have children someday. An unmarried man simply didn’t say that to an unmarried woman for conversation’s sake. He could get that, and she could keep her inheritance. There would be no love as she wanted, but they would both get something they wished for out of a marriage.

“The next train doesn’t leave until tomorrow,” Father said. “You have the rest of the day to decide what to do. I understand your heart is struggling right now, but I also know you don’t want to lose everything your grandmother gave you. It’s not only money you inherited—I know how much you adore this house and the memories it holds. And I know how important our family legacy is to you, our history. I hope you don’t mind, but after we talked yesterday, I invited Henry Tewksbury to visit this afternoon. He’s a good man and I know he will treat you well. He is a dear friend, and I’ve never heard a bad word about him from anyone. He doted on his wife before her passing, and I know he would treat any woman with love and respect.”

The urge to pace took over Vivian once more. She was sure Father was right in that he was a fine gentleman. And perhaps she would in time grow to care for the man. But she would never love him. She would never love anyone the way she loved Dantes. The way her heart fluttered due to his mere presence, how his voice swept over her like a caress. She trusted him, knew he would be there for her if she ever asked.

No one else on this Earth could be more compatible for her.

Or so she had thought.

But what else could she do? Would it really come down to her having to marry Mr. Tewksbury?

The front door creaked open, and Bernard walked in casually, the day’s mail in hand. Vivian rushed to him but didn’t have to ask anymore—he already knew what she wanted to know.

As she looked at Bernard and his sad, understanding smile, she couldn’t help but meet him with a small one of her own, appreciating that he always fetched their mail early so she didn’t fret the entire day.

Bernard had improved significantly since his arrival, and he credited his daily walks to the post office. He was so much happier, looked so much healthier. He hardly drank at all, ate better, diligently wrote letters to Mary and Freddy, even had Vivian include paragraphs of her own where she sent them lots of hugs and kisses. In her unending stress about Dantes, Bernard had been so patient and understanding, listening to her when she blew off steam. He was back to being the brother she had missed and loved dearly.

“I’m sorry.” Bernard dropped his head. “Nothing today.”

Her stomach fell, as it always did. Each disappointment was a new wound, and each day, the crack in her heart grew bigger. “Just as well.” She tried to swallow her disappointment. “Thank you for checking, anyway.”

He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, a gentle squeeze on her shoulder, and when Father handed the newspaper to him, Bernard commented he would be out back if anyone needed him. Vivian smiled after him as he walked away, grateful for his help.

For the next few hours, Vivian solemnly prepared for Mr. Tewksbury’s arrival. She put together a small menu of tea and cold finger sandwiches, planning extra food for dinner in case he wished to stay. In the back of her mind, she knew if she invited him to stay for dinner, that meant she had decided to marry him in place of Dantes. She didn’t let the thought form too strongly, however.

Go back to London as soon as possible to end this torture? Or stay with Mr. Tewksbury?

Thinking about it made her dizzy.

If only Anne had arrived before today to give some clarity on the situation at hand. But it was now too late and Vivian had to make a risky choice one way or the other.

Forcing away the worry, Vivian rushed off to begin preparations for her possible departure back to London before Mr. Tewksbury’s afternoon visit.

Within hours, she would have to make a life-altering decision—marry a decent man she would never love to keep Gran’s estate, or lose the estate to go confront the man she did love, possibly salvage what they’d once had. She could not wait any longer for answers. It had already been nearly a month of this torture.

When Mr. Tewksbury arrived later that afternoon, her Summerwood butler, Keane, led him into the parlor, where Vivian and Father waited. Bernard was oddly absent—Father had mentioned Mr. Tewksbury’s visit to Bernard, and ever since then, her brother had become scarce. Vivian rationalized it as him not wanting to discuss his separation, as perhaps gossip had begun to spread.

The visit started off well enough, with plenty of polite chatter around their travels to Brighton. The sky had begun to darken with the threat of thunderstorms, and Vivian commented it would be the first rain since any of them had arrived, which meant it would likely be quite the storm. Better today than tomorrow when she would be traveling.

After a while, however, Father made an excuse to leave, and Vivian and Mr. Tewksbury were left alone.

The elder gentleman had given her a few brief glances that afternoon that seemed almost confused, as if he hadn’t been sure why he was there. Vivian hadn’t known what to make of that, as it was pretty clear when they saw each other last, he was at least mildly interested in her. What that meant, exactly, she hadn’t the faintest notion, but she did finally come to one conclusion.

Her mind was made up.

Vivian was going to fight for Dantes, no matter what it took. Despite his intimidating appearance, he was not a man of confidence. Not when it came to love, at least. Dantes was a man who needed reassurance, nurturing, love, attention. That was what all that worry about curses is about. Curses didn’t exist, but insecurity did. And she knew exactly what to say to prove to him he wasn’t unlucky. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Vivian wanted to give Dantes everything he needed. And if that meant going back to London for a week, or a month, even, to coax him out of the fog, then so be it. Even if it meant losing Summerwood and the rest of the inheritance, as much as it would hurt. Because a life without Dantes wasn’t a life she wanted, even if it was a gilded one. She wanted him, love, above all else. Above even Summerwood and the family legacy.

But right now, she had to deal with Mr. Tewksbury and that was going to be uncomfortable.

“Lady Vivian.” He furrowed his brow as he knit his hands together over his lap. “I didn’t want to say anything in front of your father, as I assume it is a private matter, but I was wondering why he asked me to visit.”

“Oh!” She searched for how to respond. “Well, you know Father!” She tried to play it off with humor and her response made absolutely no sense. She winced at herself.

“No, what I mean is…” Mr. Tewksbury paused, probably unsure of how to broach whatever subject he had in mind. He took a deep breath. “Lady Vivian, perhaps we could be straightforward.”

“I would prefer that, in truth.”

“As would I. I intended to spend time with you this summer with the hope that, perhaps one day down the road, a wedding could be discussed.”

“Yes. About that…”

Mr. Tewksbury continued, saying something that caused Vivian pause. “When I arrived to Brighton last week, I saw your brother at the post office. He seemed taken aback when I called out to him, like he had been caught doing something. But before I could do more than ask after you and your father, he told me you were already engaged to be married.”

Vivian frowned, frantically searched her memory for when she had told Bernard. “He said that?”

“Yes.”

Glancing down at her fresh glass of iced tea, she watched a drop of condensation slide down the side. “It is true, but I’m not sure how he knew that—I haven’t yet told him. Or Father, until quite recently. Anyway, tomorrow I’m thinking about heading back to London because I’m not even sure I am still engaged and I need to find out. That is, unless…”

Outside, the dark storm clouds opened, and it began pouring rain. Heavy footfalls crossed the covered front porch, sounding loud through the walls, and Bernard took a seat in an outdoor chair with a book and a glass of whiskey. Vivian envied him, as she adored sitting on the front porch to listen to summer rain. She liked daytime storms, so long as they did not become too violent.

Mr. Tewksbury was regarding her. “Forgive me, but how does one not know if they are engaged to be married or not?”

Vivian returned her attention to him. “It’s rather silly. Dantes is supposed to come out here at some point for us to share the news with my family. Right before I left, we had an awful disagreement and ever since then, I’ve sent him many letters. Not once have I received a reply. I’ve even resorted to begging, which is not one of my finest moments.”

Mr. Tewksbury listened with patience, his mouth then twisting with thought. “And you’re sure this is uncharacteristic behavior?”

“Yes. It doesn’t seem right, but then again, the actions show for themselves.”

“What does your brother think of Mr. McNab? Are they friendly?”

“No.”

“Does he like the gentleman at all?”

“Not…particularly.”

“Interesting.” Mr. Tewksbury looked away, thinking quite deeply about something.

“Why do you ask?” Something in the way he’d said this piqued Vivian’s interest.

He looked back to her. “I saw something when I crossed paths with your brother at the post office that, at the time, didn’t strike me as unusual. Did you know they replaced their front door? It’s made of glass now, so you can see through it.”

“I didn’t, but it was always rather dark in there.”

“They also have a rubbish bin right outside as well. Anyway, the day I saw Lord Litchfield, we talked briefly just as he was leaving. After we said our goodbyes, I watched him go and, once outside, he tossed a few letters into the bin. I figured they were advertisements, as I toss those myself. But that’s rather curious under the circumstances, don’t you think?”

The blood drained from Vivian’s face right as a heavy boom of thunder shook the earth. The pouring rain was now a torrential downpour, coming down in heavy sheets. Surely, Bernard had not been throwing out her letters to Dantes. His letters to Vivian. “Oh, hellfire,” she whispered as it sunk in.

“You see where I’m going with this, then.”

But why would Bernard make such a concerted effort to keep their letters from each other? And how in the world had he found out they had planned to marry? None of this made any sense. Did Bernard assume so? No, that was far too big of an assumption to make to then go around telling people. There was no way Dantes and Bernard would ever socialize, so Dantes wouldn’t have told Bernard. Additionally, Bernard’s dislike of Dantes wasn’t so strong that he would put this much effort into preventing their marriage. If anything, he would ask her why in the world she would pick Dantes, and that would be the extent of his commentary. So why go through the effort of keeping them apart, unless he got something out of it?

Her heart stilled.

Gran’s will stipulation.

No. Surely. Surely, he wouldn’t have done that to her!

But he needed that money. And he’d been devastated, angry even, that Gran had snubbed him. But how would he have found out about all of this? The solicitor would never have shared it with Bernard—he’d been the one who’d told her to keep it secret.

She gasped. The letter. He’d read the letter! She’d left it out when she’d gone to write Dantes about the change in deadline.

As this all ran through her mind, she realized that outside, Bernard was standing and looking out toward the drive that led up to the front of the house. She leaned forward to better see, and through the rain could just barely perceive the outline of a carriage. It was tilted, as if it were stuck in the mud. Bernard began to jog out there to help whoever it was. But a moment later, there was shouting. It was a woman’s voice, and next thing Vivian knew, Bernard was running back toward the house with Anne chasing after him.